The Wastelander's Musings
by Callsign Godfather
Summary: A series of oneshots related to my characters and some others in Fallout 3. Rated T for Language, alcohol and tobacco reference. Story 5 is up!
1. Intuition

"**Intuition"**

Characters: Roland, Jericho, Dogmeat

Summary: Roland gets serv'd.

Roland mounted the low crest of the rock mound, carefully hauling his crippled right leg over a boulder before kneeling at the top and leaning back against a rock. He withdrew a stimpak from his pocket and jabbed it into his thigh, feeling the painkillers flow through his veins and making him ignore the blood coloring the leg of his Vault 101 jumpsuit.

Next came Jericho, holding his Chinese assault rifle in one hand and a half-burnt cigarette in the other. Finally there was Dogmeat, who loped over to Roland's side and sniffed at the wound.

"Jesus that hurt more than it should have…" Roland sighed, wiping his face with a dirty sleeve. He withdrew his looted Ripper from its belt loop and looked it over. "Motor's shot… Dammit, gonna have to go see Moira in the morning and get it fixed again. She should have enough money from repairing my stuff that she could open up a whole chain of Craterside Supplies by now."

Jericho knelt next to Roland, took another drag on his cigarette and tossed it off the ledge of the bluff. "Just remember, kid- if it's still hanging on, you can walk it off."

"Yeah," Roland said sarcastically. "But by now I've seen enough people shot in the torso to know when someone will and won't live." He twisted around to look down over the bluff. "How many more Talon Company are down there? I spotted five."

Jericho shook his head. "Seven; two more were by the base of the hill."

Roland coughed as he pulled a bottle of vodka out of his pack and pulled the cork out with his teeth. "Bullshit, there were five there."

Jericho turned towards Roland, a serious look on his face. "There were seven, and you fuckin' know it. Two guys were waiting for us at the base of the hill, plus the three that tracked us over from Hamilton's Hideaway, and the three that picked up the trail at Northwest Seneca."

"Those were _ghouls in combat armor!_ They weren't even after us!" Roland shouted.

Then a shout answered- "Hey! There they are!" This shout was accompanied by bullets pouring through a gap in the rocks and narrowly missing the group. Roland stood, pulling the Missile Launcher off his back.

"One missile should be more than enough for five guys…" Roland mumbled as he loaded his first missile- which, as were all the rest, marked in magic marker, PROPERTY OF ROLAND J. ROCKFORT, ROCKFORT HOMESTEAD, MEGATON. DON'T F**KING TOUCH IT.

"Yeah," Jericho retorted, "but will it be enough for seven?"

"I'm fucking telling you there's only five!" Roland shouted as he leaned around the corner and leveled the missile launcher on the first group of five Talon Company soldiers and shot. The missile detonated the belt of frag mines slung over one mercenary's shoulder, which in turn caused an even larger explosion that left none of the five men standing. The shooting stopped.

Roland grinned as he loaded the next missile into the missile launcher. "I told you there were only five- JESUS H. CHRIST!" A burst of bullets narrowly missed his face, searing the hair swept over his forehead.

"I told you there were seven," Jericho shouted as he tossed a frag grenade over his shoulder into the group of two Talon Company soldiers at the base of the hill.


	2. Call it in the Air!

**Call it in the Air!**

Characters: Roland, Conan, Sentinel Lyons, Paladin Glade, Paladin Kodiak, Knight Captain Gallows

Summary: Conan, Roland and some of Lyons' Pride attempt to cash in on an Enclave patrol.

Conan Doyle crouched in the ruins of the old high-rise building, clutching that ancient repeating rifle like a child's favorite toy (which, in many respects, it actually was to him). He looked over the smashed wall to see the platoon of Brotherhood of Steel soldiers valiantly defending the building from encroaching Enclave soldiers, the two forces exchanging fire- the Brotherhood firing red lances of energy, the Enclave green globs of plasma.

Roland sprinted up the stairwell to the third floor, cradling his missile launcher as he straightened the aviator sunglasses perched on his nose beneath the hat he had taken from Sheriff Simms in Megaton. Roland repeatedly claimed he wore the hat in memory of the sheriff, who had died defending the town from Mr. Burke, but (being somewhat morally questionable and very obtrusive personality-wise) no-one went by that story. Either way, Roland was down next, followed by four Brotherhood of Steel members- three male, one female- Sentinel Lyons, Knight Captain Gallows, Paladin Kodiak and Paladin Glade, four members of Lyons' Pride.

"How many are out there?" Sarah shouted, ducking out of the way as a bolt from a Plasma Rifle whizzed past her head and splattered onto a support beam somewhere just ahead of the group.

"I don't know!" Roland shouted. He peeped over the wall and fired a shot from his Assault Rifle, praying that he hit.

"What do you mean, _you don't know_?! You were at the scout post, you had the optics _and the only sniper rifle!_" Lyons shouted aggressively, briefly standing up and firing at two Enclave soldiers who answered by screaming and flailing what remained of their limbs.

"Well exc-_uuu_se me, Princess Lyons, but I was too busy attempting to not get _shot in the face _to perform a role-call by name!" Roland shouted, angrily firing a longer burst into the crowd of Enclave soldiers.

"Alright, both of you calm down right now!" Roland shouted, his voice booming through the amplification system in his power armor. "Let's start a bet to ease the tension."

"Yeah," Knight Captain Gallows muttered, "Because betting pools make everything better."

"I start a betting pool on your name _one time_, Gallows, and you rip my throat out over it every other time-goddamnit, you know what? You're fuckin' _impossible._" Glade punched the wall in frustration before opening fire with his chaingun.

"Both of you are acting like children; can't you just hear me out?" Conan half-shouted in his passive-aggressive manner. The group stopped their little integrated arguments long enough for Spade to say what he had to say.

"Now. Let's start a betting pool right now. Whoever wipes out the most Enclave troops in this skirmish wins the pool, provided we aren't shot to pieces and die." Conan said.

"Fuck yeah, I'm in. I'll throw down 500 caps that I kick all your asses." Roland grinned, tossing his bag of caps into the ring.

"Count me in too. Two-fifty on Sentinel Lyons." Paladin Kodiak placed 250 caps next to Roland's 500-cap stash.

"My rainy-day fund's going down on Gallows." Paladin Glade placed a 1500-cap pile alongside the others'.

"Six hundred to who-ever wins. Remember guys," Conan said as he placed his bag on the pile, "No matter who you bet on the money goes to the man or woman with the most kills. Sentinel Lyons?"

"Four thousand five hundred caps on Roland." The massive sack of jangling caps dwarfed all the other piles. Everyone gawked in silence at the pot stacked on the floor, except Conan, who was observing four vertibirds landing on the outskirts of the battlefield.

"Alright, on three guys." Conan stood up as he locked the helmet back over his head and checked his repeater. "One…"

"Alright, time to hit pay-dirt." Roland ritually tightened all of the straps on his combat armor, pulled down his biker goggles and straightened the sheriff's hat on his head.

"Two…"

"Ma'am, reinforcements inbound!" One of the Brotherhood paladins shouted from down below.

"I know, and I'm gonna kill 'em all!" Lyons responded as she lifted her Laser Rifle.

"Three!" Conan shouted as a fresh platoon of Enclave soldiers poured around the corner and opened fire.

A plasma bolt whizzed through an open window-frame and the contest began.

**Four Hours Later**

Roland and Conan walked through the doors with their heads in their hands, Roland scratching his temples, Conan just standing awkwardly. Following them was Sentinel Lyons with a massive sack of caps, followed by equally dismayed Paladins Kodiak and Glade, and Knight Captain Gallows.

"That was just downright embarrassing," Kodiak said as he looked towards Sarah's massive cache of caps.

"You're right for a change, Greg." Glade sighed, placing his head back inside its helmet.

"Seven thousand caps… Gone, like that." Gallows shook his head and choked back a fake sob.

"Seven thousand three hundred fifty, actually… And to think if I hadn't whiffed that last shot I would've won." Conan barely held back his visible dismay.

"Goddamn," Roland said, a look of pure chagrin on his face, "Goddamn."

"You wanna bet on that again, boys?" Sentinel Lyons said, wearing a grand old smile as she swung the caps around in front of her face.

"Hell no!" The others chorused in unison.


	3. Safety

**Safety**

Cast: Roland, Henry Young, Anna Holt, Janice Kaplinski

Summary: "I should've gotten life insurance!"

Roland vaulted bodily over the stacked 55-gallon drums in the middle of the spillway, clutching the missile launcher tight to his back (the buckled strap having long since degraded to a point where it was no longer remotely useful). Following were three people- two women in lab coats and a man in a dirty light-blue jumpsuit- and two Enclave soldiers.

"Don't slow down now!" Roland shouted as he hefted the missile launcher into his hands. "According to this map Doctor Li gave me before I left, we only have about five hundred yards before- ah, _shit!_"

Roland had run straight into a dead-end pipeline piled high with a two hundred years of refuse, sewage and rats.

"Come on! You're not keeping up; go through the door to the right! Keep moving!" Roland continued to move the missile launcher to a firing position, bracing himself against the refuse pile, using it as a support as he aimed at the two Enclave soldiers. First Janice sprinted past, skidding awkwardly in her two-inch heels as she turned the corner, followed by the more sensibly dressed Doctor Holt, and finally Henry, at a dead run and clutching his Chinese pistol.

"Hit the door button; close it now!"

"But that'll lock you out!" Henry shouted as he ushered everyone through the door.

"You'll need the map then!" Roland shouted, deadpan. He tossed the slip of yellowed paper over to Henry. "Just follow the path marked in red and keep running! Don't stop for anything; Garza and Doctor Li will be waiting, now shut the goddamn door!"

For once heeding the young Vault Dweller's words, Henry, a grimace on his face, slammed a fist against the door button and stepped back as it slid shut.

"Looks like it's time to sidestep the devil again…" Roland said, grinning, as he sighted through the optics of the missile launcher and let fly.

**

**A few minutes later…**

Henry couldn't believe the sound he'd just heard behind the locked door. First there was the _ka-thud, whoosh _of a missile launching, then there was an explosion, men screamed, and when Henry opened the door Roland had disappeared.

"Roland?" The man shouted. "Roland! Answer me, Roland!" Coughing as he stepped forward into an ankle deep puddle of irradiated water (_Which,_ he thought to himself, _hadn't been there a few minutes ago_), Henry continued to shout until his lungs were filled with smoke and he was forced to head back through the door.

"Henry?" Janice said timidly. "Henry, is Roland alright?"

Between coughs, Henry relayed the news. "He's not out there… Passage is flooding, there might be a hole blown somewhere. Let's go; it's time to get out of here."

"But we can't leave without Roland!" Anna shouted suddenly. "He was the only chance we had of getting out of here without the Enclave shooting us to pieces, and if Garza and Doctor Li have been caught…" She shivered. Henry put a hand on her shoulder.

"Don't worry. I've known that guy for all of a week, but if there's one person who I'd trust with my life right now, it'd be that kid." Henry withdrew the Chinese pistol from his belt. "Now come on; we've got a scientist to catch up to. Roland wouldn't like it if we went back on our word now."

Anna, Janice and Henry stood in silence for a moment before they took off at a dead run again, temporarily leaving behind their worries about Roland and putting their own lives at the forefront.

**

**Meanwhile…**

Roland knelt behind a wall of bricks, repairing the plasma rifle he'd looted off of the last dead Enclave soldier and pulling the last of the power armor's securing clamps into place, effectively sealing him into the suit. Sure, Roland had no idea how the suit was supposed to work, but he'd had no idea how the Missile Launcher worked when he'd first gotten it, he'd somehow managed to forget how to clamp the seals on his environment suit, but he'd fixed that, and he'd managed to fix getting radiation sickness from toilet water on a broken subway locomotive.

He'd figure out how to work this power armor.

Whether or not he'd be able to work it, Roland sealed the awkward, Satanic-looking helmet over his head and clamped it into place over his chin. The clicking of servo motors whining to life greeted his ears as he pushed himself to his feet, and the armor-clad Roland stood to his seven feet of augmented height and stepped forward. The step carried him a surprisingly long distance, and surprisingly quick as well.

"Huh. Gonna need to get used to this," Roland said as he sprinted off down the sewer tunnels, having already memorized the shortcuts to the end of the tunnel.

**

**One hour later…**

"Well, let's face it." Doctor Li sighed as she looked around at Garza, Henry, Doctor Holt and Doctor Kaplinski. "Roland is dead. And if he isn't dead by now, he's been captured by Enclave forces somewhere in the tunnels and is far beyond helping us. Either way, it's up to us now. After we leave these tunnels, there's no turning back. Everything you need, I trust, is in your backpacks. Now then…" Madison, however, was interrupted by what was simultaneously the most disturbing and gratifying image she had seen in her life.

Roland Rockfort was triumphantly striding up the tunnel in battered Enclave powered armor, holding a captive Enclave officer in a brutal headlock with a plasma pistol held to his own temple.

"I should've gotten life insurance," Roland said as he wiped a cut on his forehead. "But I think the bounty on this sap's head should have me set for life."

"You captured an Enclave officer?" Doctor Li was both furious and astonished at the same time.

"Yeah, along with some Enclave power armor, an Enclave plasma pistol, an Enclave plasma rifle and a portable computer with a direct uplink to- what else? –the Enclave database. The Brotherhood will be very happy to have these, I'm sure." Dropping the unconscious officer to the tunnel floor, he strode over to Henry and held out his hand.

"What?" Henry wore his best "what-the-fuck-do-you-want" face while Roland stood there with his hand out.

"The gun." Roland sighed, looking at his Chinese pistol. "I want it back."

Henry began to stammer out a protest when Roland cut him off. "I said you could keep it if I died. I'm not dead, so I would very much like my lucky pistol back."

Stunned, Henry twirled the pistol around and handed the gun to Roland, handle-first. Roland took the gun and stuffed it into his belt, then turned back to the Enclave officer and lifted him up by the shirt collar.

"Now then, assorted doctors, mechanics and otherwise…" Roland put on his best Congressional smile, "Let's go have a chat with Elder Lyons." With that, he threw the sewer grate open and stepped into the twilight outside the sheltering walls of the Citadel.


	4. The Wasteland Betting Pool, Pt 1

**The Wasteland Betting Pool**

Characters: Roland (Unseen), Conan (Unseen), Herbert "Daring" Dashwood, Tenpenny Tower Residents

Summary: Wastelanders with too many caps know where to put them.

"_What is the meaning of this?!" King Crag of Rockopolis shouted at his two newest guests. One was tall, with salt-and-pepper hair and a well-trimmed goatee. He sported a black trench-coat, beneath which was a shoddy steel cuirass. He wore a combat shotgun over his back and a sword hung at his hip. The other man- if he could be called such anymore- was dressed in a much less elaborate outfit- white t-shirt, brown cargo pants, black boots, a satchel bag- and held an iron pipe in his left hand._

"_Oh, magnificent King Crag, fearless leader of Rockopolis, it's me, Daring!" Crag kept up his angry glare at the strangely-dressed adventurer, despite the goofy, clean-teethed smile on his pitted face and the aloof, calm demeanor he projected. Nevertheless, 'Daring' continued. "… Daring… Dashwood?" Herbert stood back, crestfallen, as King Crag prepared his next verbal battery against the adventurer._

"_Herbert Dashwood?" Crag sighed. "I should have known. But who is this…" Crag's face contorted in confusion and rage. "… This woman? And… Is that her… Heart?"_

_The strange-looking man stepped forward and spoke in a voice resembling what could only be described as what a sixty-year-old Brooklyn chain-smoker who had just been dragged behind a fast-moving car over a rocky beach's voice would sound like. _

"_She's the least of yer worries, Craggy. In a few minutes, the slavers're gonna be breakin' down yer rocky front door!" If the man could have moved his face in a coherent manner, it would be in what could be described as a mix between rage and exasperation. _

"_Slavers?" Crag shouted again. "You led the slavers here, to Rockopolis?!" Now his face registered only rage as he strode toward Dashwood and his flesh-rotted friend. "You idiots! Do you realize what you've done!?" _

_Dashwood came back with a weak response, his voice wavering- half in fear, half in meek suggestion. "Inspired you to tighten your defenses?" _

_Crag was through dealing with Dashwood with his friend by now; and he made it clear in one long, drawn-out shout: "DASHWOOOOOD!" _

_The zombie-looking man spoke again, "Warm welcome's over, Boss! Time to scram!" As the old man and his stinky sidekick retreated from Crag's presence, the self-christened king of Rockopolis shifted his attention to his people and addressed them:_

"_Citizens of Rockopolis, destroy these interlopers!" And at this point, Crag gestured at Dashwood and his comrade's retreating forms. _

_Catching wind of Crag's statement, Dashwood called out to his nimble necrotic friend: "This way, Argyle, into the caves! It's our only chance!" The two men switched course away from the main atrium of Rockopolis and into a deserted fissure, untouched by the likes of man for the better part of two hundred years. Sprinting blindly through the cavern's thin concealed passages, groping along the walls as they rushed haphazardly along, Dashwood and Argyle eventually arrived at a long mesa which stretched out into a sheer cliff. _

_Dashwood and Argyle, without stopping, continued their conversation. "They're gaining on us, boss!" Argyle shouted as he gestured back at the mob filling the mesa behind them. "That cliff up ahead; think you can jump it? Ya ain't as spry as ya used to be!" _

"_Child's play, you withering worry-wart!" Dashwood said, his calm demeanor not breaking in the least. "Watch this!" And with a rebel yell, Dashwood leapt out into the chasm… And promptly landed on an outlying edge a few feet away from the rim of the other side of the chasm, holding on for dear life._

"_Boss, don't worry! I'm coming!" Argyle said, frantically searching the cliff-side for a way down to his friend and charge. _

"_Best hurry old chum," Dashwood grunted as he adjusted his grip on the outcrop. "I can't hold on… Much… Longer!" Argyle frantically clambered down the cliffside and reached out to clutch the far side of the cliff before spider-climbing over to his boss. _

"_I… Think this could be the end of…" Dashwood was cut off as another voice spoke, overlapping his climactic final address:_

"_Be sure and tune in next time for another exciting adventure of me; Herbert "Daring" Dashwood, and my stalwart Ghoul manservant, Argyle!" _

The intro music to "The Adventures of Herbert "Daring" Dashwood" played, and the real Dashwood- an old man in a sweater-vest of no less than seventy years of age- switched off the radio and sighed.

"Those were the days," He muttered wistfully as he walked out of his hotel room and headed down to the bar. He climbed slowly down the stairs, still reminiscing about the good-old-days when he arrived.

There he saw a newcomer.

The man was immediately different from the other Tower residents- he wore black combat armor, a strange hood and odd sunglasses, and what hair was visible beneath the hood was chestnut brown and at least down to his shoulders, were it not for the hood getting in his way. The man took one long look at Dashwood before nodding to the security chief, Gustavo, and exiting the Tower.

Dashwood looked at the security guard with an odd expression on his face. "Gustavo, who was that strange man?"

Gustavo, the security chief, shrugged. "Hell if I know. Guy came in here looking for a way up to Tenpenny, said he had business. He was a smooth talker, but he had the wrong look about him. I told him he'd have to look elsewhere for business, because Tenpenny isn't hiring."

"Did he give you his name?"

"Yeah, somewhere in that spiel he identified himself by 'R. Rockfort' or some shit." Gustavo said bluntly.

"Hmm… Second adventurer to pass through in the last few months…" Dashwood's eyes glimmered.

"Gustavo, gather everyone in the bar at half past noon, I've got an idea."

At noon, the guests were gathered in the hotel bar, with Shakes the Protectron-turned-bartender operating at max efficiency. Dashwood tapped the table in the center of the bar with a pool cue, gathering everyone's attention.

"Alright everyone, listen up! Listen up!" The old man shouted, his voice carrying surprisingly well for someone his age. "Now, I know you all have no idea why you've been gathered here, but I'm about to inform you."

Regardless of the groans from the various denizens of the tower, Dashwood continued. "Now, I'm absolutely sure you've all heard the story about my comrade Argyle. How he disappeared in Rockopolis and all that, blah blah blah. Well, I've commissioned a young man already to look for him. His name was Conan Doyle- I'm sure you've all seen him around; young lad, well-kept, goofy biker goggles, power armor- well, he's been on the case since last week. Now a new guy has showed up.

"This guy identified himself to Gustavo as a mister Rockfort, and he looked like the sort who's always in for a good scrap. Now I've sent him a message asking him to find Argyle as well. That gave me an idea- why waste time sitting here waiting for news when we can waste some of the caps we've got here on something other than booze and cheap entertainment?

"I've got a proposition for us all- I've given both men the means to contact my home computer console to inform me if they find Argyle. While we wait, let's place bets on who's going to find my flesh-rotten friend first! Winning side gets to split the pool however they like."

Grumbles of approval slowly spread through the group before, by ones and twos at first, then in larger groups, started placing bets- between one hundred and four thousand caps each- on the pre-divided table; one side marked 'Conan', the other side marked 'R. Rockfort'. Eventually, the stacks of caps began to pile high as opinions flew across the room.

Dashwood smiled. If this didn't build initiative for the adventurers to find Argyle, then nothing else would.


	5. Fight Pit

**Note:** Roland, although he knows a few phrases in Chinese (mostly expletives, all of which will be expended within this chapter), Roland is not Asian. He learned them from a pass-book.

_____________________________________________

**Fight Pit**

Characters: Roland

Summary: Roland stumbles into the wrong cave network.

The first thing Roland felt when he woke up was wet. The feeling of a constant drip on his face drew him ever closer to full consciousness, and when he finally did make it he made it in a big way. Sitting up slowly, he tested his legs and arms to make sure they were all attached- they were- but when he stood up, Roland immediately felt the grinding of bones in his lower left leg.

Between bouts of screaming and cursing, Roland deduced that his lower leg had been partially fractured, and was generally unpleasant in feeling. He would be able to walk, but climbing was out of the question. Flicking on the Pip-boy light on his wrist (for the cave was dark, you see), Roland quickly got his bearings. He had apparently fallen at least twenty feet to the ground, through what looked like a jagged fissure in the surface. A tunnel led off to the left, another one went straight ahead before curving off in the same direction-

"Sir, is that you?" Rang a tinny, metallic voice that attempted to feign sounding grievously wounded. Roland shouted and would have jumped were it not for the fracture in his leg. Looking wildly about, his eyed unused to the darkness still, he eventually focused his eyes on a yellow orb floating in the corner. _'Well,' _he deduced, _'either that's an undead soul come to reap me to the Underworld or I've stumbled upon a Gutsy who fell down before me. Only one way to find out…'_

Roland limped over to the broken yellow orb, which was revealed to be the tracking sensor of a Gutsy model. Several frayed wires hanging out on the cave floor led back to the main fuselage of an olive drab robot, its internal components splayed about like a wounded man's organs. Its manipulator arms all lay limp and a trail of oil had formed all the way from a small pool in the corner of a room to its present location. Despite its evident inanimate state, Roland couldn't help but feel sorry for the old war bot's current predicament.

"Mister Gutsy, give identification number and current status." Roland relayed, leaning against a stalagmite and binding his leg with a length of discarded cloth.

"This model has been programmed to respond with the model identification number FM-9. My current status is…" The robot made a tinny, shuddering noise, probably its attempt to make a sound like a cough, "… Deplorable. Outer casing is cracked, manipulators offline, main fuel tank ruptured… Sir, I can't go on."

Roland began pulling out his sawed-off shotgun. "It's alright, soldier… Your tour of duty's over." He leveled it at FM-9's tracking sensor, which lowered a bit.

"I've been down here for seven months… I haven't been able to move, and the enemy has been tearing away at me for the entire time…" Another pseudo-cough. "Thank you, sir…"

The sound of the shotgun blast echoed off the walls.

**Around an hour afterwards**

Roland continued to limp down the small linking corridor, following the feeling of the breeze against his face as he had been for what he could only assume had been an hour. The breeze had the scent of what could have been defined as 'fresh', as in 'not cave-scented', and so Roland was tracing it back to its source.

The 'source' in question, as Roland soon found out, was a wide fissure across which was strung a tenuous rope bridge- guarded by, of course, more angry Raiders. Thus far Roland had counted out six of the bastards in the cavern, and had managed to sneak past them- however these four were probably going to turn out unavoidable.

And that they did.

A hail of bullets whined past Roland's head and ping-ping-pinged off the wall behind him, accompanied with shouts of, "I thought we killed that fucker!"

Roland merely responded loudly, in Chinese, "Liu koushi de biaozi he houzi de ben erzi! [Stupid son of a drooling whore and a monkey!]" before retreating backwards into the cave, every step bringing a fresh lance of pain upwards into his torso. "Daxiang baozhashi de laduzi! [The explosive diarrhea of an elephant!]" He shouted again as more bullets attempted to vent him from behind. Turning around, he pulled The Kneecapper off his hip and, stumbling, watched as a Raider's combat knife narrowly missed scalping him alive. The _clack-DON _sound of the double-barrelled shotgun filled the small passage with a devastating percussive force, partially deafening Roland and blowing the Raider's head off at the chin. As Roland continued falling, another break of luck sent six bullets narrowly past his face. Turning as he fell, Roland fired the second chamber of his Kneecapper in a blind shot, hearing the sound of a Raider crying out in pain and surprise as at least a little buckshot caught him. Looking up, Roland saw the man stumble, clawing blindly at his face, and trip backwards over the fissure. His partner, now angry, was charging headlong at Roland's prone form, bloodlust and rage in his eyes- _Gou cao de hundan _[dog-humping bastard]_, he's using Psycho!_ Roland thought hurriedly.

Turning onto his back, Roland pulled out a single shotgun shell and slammed it roughly into the break in the barrel. Just as the raider reached him, he pulled the barrel shut, laughed, shouted "HUNDAN!" at the top of his lungs and fired.

The raider, as if aided by some unseen gravitational anomaly, flew back off his feet as if posessed and landed on the ground a few feet away with a head-sized hole in his torso. His eyes were wide and his mouth agape, swallowing for air like a fish on a hook. Standing up slowly, Roland ignored the man and the slowly-expanding pool of blood around him as he pushed himself to his feet and limped over to the rope bridge. Two raiders stood frantically chopping at the ropes on the other side, watching Roland stomp forward. Dropping the Kneecapper to his hip, Roland withdrew a .44 magnum pistol and, in two quick motions, fired. Both the raiders on the other side of the bridge stumbled, fell and thundered down the fissure.

Sighing, and putting the magnum back on his belt, Roland stumbled across the rope bridge. Looking at a small fissure in the rock, Roland slid into it and, snaking through as best he could without breaking his leg further, found his way to an iron mesh gate. Beyond it stood a set of stairs leading up to… What?

Tossing caution to the wind, Roland threw the gate open and ran for the stairs, focusing wholly on the trap-door above him. Climbing quickly, he threw the trapdoor open and pulled himself up, only to catch a massive blast of fetid sewer water right in the kisser. Ignoring the unpleasant scent (and taste), Roland pulled himself bodily up and into the tunnel.

"Free at last!" He shouted, climbing up a second ladder and revealing himself to the night. The glow of the Citadel's floodlights stood out far in the distance, a beacon of hope in the bleak, depressing Wasteland. Roland had survived another wild night through luck and skill.


End file.
